


Could never define all that you are to me

by doctorbuffypotterlock79, writworm42



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 1950s AU, Christmas, Christmas Kisses, F/F, Ficmas, Lesbian AU, carol au, department store meet-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/pseuds/writworm42
Summary: AU inspired by the movie Carol, whereby Brooke visits Vanessa's department store in search of a toy, only to find something that's going to bring much, much more joy.(aka we gave the people the carol au they deserve)For Ficmas prompt "mittens"
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Could never define all that you are to me

**Author's Note:**

> WRIT: It was SO, SO much fun to write this with Athena!!! Collabing with her has been a dream, and I hope y'all like it as much as we liked writing it together. THANK YOU TO MY BEST BINCH HOLTZ FOR BETA-ING!!!! 
> 
> ATHENA: Working with Writ has been an absolute honor and a dream. I could not have done this without them, and I love them. Also thank you holtzmanns for betaing for us! Title from Movement by Hozier

The blonde is, in Vanessa’s opinion, the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

She sweeps into the toy department like a breath of fresh air, a peaceful break from screaming toddlers and fighting siblings and mothers that raise fingers at her when toys aren’t in stock. 

Vanessa’s head shoots up from its downward tilt that sets in after a few hours at this place. She forgets her growling stomach (lucky A’keria got first lunch), forgets the exhaustion of four straight eight-hour shifts, forgets everything except for the woman in front of her. 

The blonde is quiet and self-contained as she browses around, a relief from the usual parents that storm up to the counter and demand that Vanessa give them what they want. A long grey coat flows down her even longer frame, and Vanessa can tell from the smooth lines and crisp collar that it costs more than her whole paycheck. 

The woman teeters around, glancing over to the counter and biting her lip like she needs help but is afraid to ask for it, and Vanessa seizes her moment. She reaches for the compact mirror A’keria hides under the desk, checks her hair, and asks, “Anything I can help you with?” in the cheerful employee voice she doesn’t use as often as she’s supposed to. 

“Huh? Oh, um, yes,” the blonde says, walking over to the counter. “Sorry, do you have any princess castle sets left? I need to get it for my daughter.”

Her voice is soft and she smells like strawberries. Vanessa finds herself straining against the counter to get closer. 

Vanessa’s heart sinks. She sold the last one that morning, to a woman that threatened to get the manager if Vanessa didn’t accept her expired coupon. Vanessa would usually tell people the item was out of stock with her insincere, company-mandated politeness, but something in her hurts over having to tell this woman she can’t have it. 

Vanessa notes a deep exhaustion in the woman’s green eyes. Not the kind of exhaustion you get from one sleepless night, but from months, maybe even a whole life, of sleepless nights. Despite how polished this woman is, Vanessa fears this might make her crumble. 

“I’m really sorry, but I sold the last one this morning,” Vanessa says genuinely. The woman’s face falls briefly before righting itself. 

“That’s okay,” she says. “Thank you for your help.” 

She turns to leave. 

“Wait!” Vanessa yelps. “I can order one for you. It’ll be here by Christmas, I promise.”

“Oh.” Her face brightens, a small smile that weakens Vanessa’s knees running across her face. “That would be great, thank you.”

“No problem.” Vanessa goes through the steps of the online order, typing in the woman’s name-- _ Brooke Lynn Hytes _ , Vanessa doesn’t think she’ll forget it--and phone number. 

“Can I pick it up in the store?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa lets herself fantasize for a second that Brooke’s done it to see her again, that the smile still shining on Brooke’s face is for Vanessa alone. Why else would this woman inconvenience herself with store pickup when home delivery is an option?

“Of course. We’ll call you when it comes in.”

“Thank you,” Brooke says. “I’ll be back to get it. I hope you’re working that day.” Her cheeks turn a soft pink that make Vanessa’s heart flutter. 

“Me too,” she whispers, already frantically checking the order form for the expected arrival date and comparing it to her work schedule. 

\---

The delivery takes far too long for Vanessa’s liking. Every day that passes by is another risk--a risk that Brooke might forget, or that she’ll be busy and send someone else, or worse, that Vanessa won’t be on shift when it does come in, or when Brooke is able to pick it up. By the time a week passes, Vanessa finds herself a little panicked; what if it’s already come in, already been picked up, and she’s missed it, missed her chance to see Brooke again? It’s not like she can ask anyone--no, that would be obsessive, and odd, and it would certainly raise suspicion…

“Hey,” A’keria taps Vanessa on the shoulder nine days after Brooke and Vanessa’s meeting, “That box for the lady from last week came in. I’d call her about it, but I don’t really want to, so...” 

Vanessa has never jumped to do something for someone else so fast, any potential scolding or argument flying out the window as she scrambles to the phone, thanking God for loving the lesbians so much as she jams in Brooke’s number and waits for the number to dial.

_ Pick up, pick up, pick up… _

The phone clicks after the third ring.

“Hello?” the voice on the line is proper, official, with an almost coy lilt to it, but it’s Brooke’s, Vanessa’s sure of it. 

“Um…” Vanessa curses herself inwardly as she scrounges for words, her mind suddenly having gone blank. Christ, why  _ now? _

“Is this the Hytes residence?” she finally blurts out, her face burning with embarrassment as Brooke laughs on the other line.

“Yes, Brooke speaking. Is this the counter girl from last week?”

“Oh.” it comes out in a breath of surprise, almost like Vanessa can’t believe Brooke remembers her, that she  _ recognizes her voice _ , because she can’t believe it, can’t believe she’s that memorable.

“Well?”

“Yes!” Vanessa remembers herself suddenly, “Yes, this is Vanessa. Um--the counter girl. I--I don’t remember if I told you my name last time.” She puts her face in her hand, the heat of her mortification practically burning her palm as she stuffs down any further urges to keep rambling. Luckily, though, Brooke only laughs.

“You’re adorable, Vanessa.” Brooke purrs. “So, I take it my toy is in?”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, um, Miss Hytes. Um--”

“Brooke. Call me Brooke.” Brooke’s voice is light with amusement. “I’m calling you Vanessa, after all.”

“Alright, Brooke.” Vanessa nods, and somehow, it’s soothing to say the name, a little exciting, even, as if she’s gained some kind of secret approval from the woman on the other line. “It’s ready for you to come pick it up.”

“Excellent. When are you working until?”

Oh God. Oh God. Brooke is going to come over to the store, is going to come pick it up from Vanessa. 

Vanessa can barely contain her excitement as she tells Brooke she’s working until closing at 10 that night, and has to stop herself from slamming down the phone in joy when Brooke tells her she’ll be there within the hour.

She almost runs to the bathroom to tame her hair, frazzled after four hours on shift and another four to go. She reapplies lipstick, trying not to think that she’s as excited as a kid on Christmas morning over seeing a woman she’s talked to less than five minutes. It’s ridiculous. She sighs and heads back out. 

Every minute in the toy department creeps by like an hour, but tonight, each one feels like a year. She tidies up a stuffed animal display, rearranges building blocks, and lines up board games. She’s about to hit the stuffed animals again when she walks in and Vanessa loses her breath for a second. 

Brooke is in a different coat this time, a short red one, no less expensive or well-made. 

Vanessa coaxes (threatens) A’keria into taking her break and leans casually against the counter as Brooke approaches. 

“Hi,” Brooke says. 

“Hi.” Vanessa’s face burns; it’s probably just the heat blasting through the store. 

“Having a good week?” Brooke asks pleasantly. 

Vanessa shrugs. “Not too bad. The Christmas rush will be coming, though.” 

Brooke smiles. “That must be rough.”

“It sure is. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a grown woman riding one of those toy trucks to knock people over and getting stuck. We had to call the fire department to get her out.”

Brooke breaks off into a musical laugh, one that makes Vanessa smile. From how surprised Brooke is at the sound, Vanessa gets the idea that she hasn’t laughed like this in a while. Why the hell is she thinking about it? She doesn’t know a thing about this woman, and it’s not her business anyway. Brooke removes thick leather gloves and Vanessa can’t help but notice that there’s no ring on her finger. Again, not her business. 

“I promise I won’t ride anything—unless you’d like that,” she teases and Vanessa’s knees almost give out. “Otherwise, I’ll just take the castle.”

“Right.” Vanessa suddenly remembers that she’s here to do a job, not just talk to tall blonde women.

She plunks the box on the counter and rings up the purchase as Brooke opens a neatly organized wallet and removes her credit card. Vanessa drags the transaction out as long as she can without it being noticeable, because she isn’t ready for Brooke to leave just yet. 

“Thank you again,” Brooke says as she takes the box. “I really want my daughter to have it. It’s been a tough few months for her.”

Vanessa suspects it’s been tough for Brooke as well, but she doesn’t voice it. “Sorry to hear that,” Vanessa says. “How old is she?” 

“Four. Her name is Sophie,” Brooke replies. 

“Nice name. Is she pretty like her Mama?” Oh shit. Did that really just come out of her mouth? 

Thankfully, Brooke just laughs again. “I think she’s prettier than me, to be honest. She has such nice brown eyes. Beautiful, just like yours.”

The heat is on  _ way  _ too high. Vanessa feels like she’s emerged from a volcano. But it can’t just be her imagination anymore. Brooke is definitely into her, those green eyes bright and locked onto her. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” barks a voice that isn’t at all sorry, “but are you going to find a doll for me or do I have to see a manager?” 

It’s like a picture frame shatters, the perfect image Vanessa’s living in destroyed as she looks up to see an irate woman with a hand on her hip by the register. 

“I’ll be right with you,” Vanessa promises as Brooke gives her an apologetic smile. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Brooke vows. “Still have some more presents to get.”

“I’ll be here,” Vanessa confirms. She doesn’t have time to be sad as Brooke heads out, can’t focus on her sinking heart as she helps the woman find a doll. It isn’t until she’s about to close that she sees the gloves left on the counter. Rich, smooth leather, soft as butter. Brooke’s gloves. Vanessa wonders how someone that seems so careful, so organized, could have left them here, silencing the delusion that Brooke did it purposely. 

Either way, she has a reason to call Brooke again. 

\--

“My, my, Vanessa, we’ve simply  _ got _ to stop meeting this way.” Brooke answers the phone on the first ring this time, not so much as a  _ hello _ in the way of getting right to the point. Vanessa feels her breath catch in her throat, the validation of her hunch somehow not nearly as satisfying as it is nerve-wracking now that it’s actually unfolding, actually  _ happening _ , all in real time.

“How did you know it was me?” The question comes to her before she can stop it, and fuck it, her brain isn’t working well enough to think of anything else to say in the moment, so she might as well ask.

There’s silence for a moment, and then a cough.

“You’re, um, the fifth person I’ve done this to.” 

Vanessa can’t help it--she cracks up.

“Hey!” Brooke’s voice comes through plaintive and pouty, not nearly as smooth or cool as Vanessa was used to, and somehow, it makes it even funnier. “Don’t make fun of me for being cool!”

“You’re being a dork.” Vanessa snorts, still giggling a little as she tries her best to calm down.

“Rude.” Brooke huffs, but despite the indignant front, she’s giggling too, and suddenly, Vanessa isn’t so nervous anymore. 

“So, I guess you know why I’m calling?” Vanessa finally sobers up, the air between them settling back into calm again. 

“Because you just can’t resist me?”

“No, you dork.” Vanessa rolls her eyes. “You left your gloves at the counter this evening.”

“So I did.” Vanessa can  _ hear _ Brooke’s grin on the other line, her voice having resumed its sly, purring drawl. “Does that mean I’ve got to come collect from you again?”

The thought of Brooke collecting something--something that’s  _ definitely _ not gloves--from Vanessa is enough to disorient Vanessa completely.

“I--Um. Yes, but the store is closed now, so you’ll either have to come by tomorrow, or--”

“--Or? Don’t tell me you’re sitting in the store after dark, all alone?” There’s flirtation in the question, but also something pressing, something that overtakes the seductive potential of the moment and leaves behind any possibilities that it might lead to.

Brooke is sitting on the other side of the line, worried that Vanessa is alone and unprotected.

Vanessa feels her heart swell just a little.

“I’m actually at home.” she confesses, “I took them with me. I know that it’s late, so I can bring them back with me to work tomorrow, or--”

“Where do you live?” 

Vanessa blinks. “What?”

“Where do you live?” Brooke repeats, a little slower, “I’ll come pick them up from you. If--If that’s not too forward.” The tinge of regret and shyness in her voice is uncharacteristic for Brooke, unlike anything Vanessa’s seen from her so far. 

It’s cute. And Vanessa definitely wants to see more of it.

“Fifteen May Street, unit 206. Sidestreet just shy of the corner of Maple and Foundry.”

“Alright.” Brooke’s voice takes on a softness and confidence that erases the crack in her demeanour that had appeared mere seconds ago. “I’ll have my driver bring me over in about fifteen. Is it okay if Sophie comes too? The nanny and housekeeping staff have gone home for the night.”

Vanessa agrees, then hangs up the phone, snorting a little to herself. 

A rich woman--one who can afford a driver, a nanny, and housekeeping--is bringing herself and her daughter over to see Vanessa, a toy-counter girl, and spend time with her. Talk with her. Get to know her more. 

Lord.

Well, Vanessa’s mother had always said that she had the tendency to get herself into the strangest situations, and as far as strange situations, this one was turning out more than alright. 

Vanessa smiles to herself, tidying and arranging little things she notices around the apartment as she rushes to her bedroom to go get ready.

—

Vanessa stares out the window like a wife waiting for her lover to return from the war, after rushing through her apartment and throwing dirty dishes in the dishwasher. 

A sleek black car pulls up to the curb, the kind you aren’t supposed to notice but do anyway, and know that the person inside has to be rich. 

Brooke gets out, graceful as always, a dish in one hand, her other in a small blonde girl’s mittened grasp. Vanessa’s heart warms at this tender, caring side of Brooke. She fixes her hair one last time, picks up one of Riley’s chew toys she’d missed and shoves it in the pantry, before buzzing them in.

The knock sounds a minute later and makes her jump even though she’s expecting it.  _ Get it together, Vanessa _ , she commands herself as her heart skips a beat. So what if this lady she barely knows and is majorly attracted to will be in her apartment, in the space where she lives and sleeps and eats, in the space where Vanessa unwinds and lets herself go after work? She can do this. She opens the door and Brooke’s face breaks into a grin that Vanessa mirrors. 

Sophie is Brooke in miniature, like one of the dolls in the toy department. She has the same blonde hair, same nose, and same fair skin, contrasted by warm, chocolate brown eyes. Vanessa’s never been one for kids--hours of listening to them scream and cry in a stifling store will do that to you--but she has a feeling this one might be okay. 

Brooke passes Vanessa the dish after she steps inside. “Um, Sophie and I made cookies. She really likes sprinkles, as you can see. I hope that’s okay.” Brooke grins nervously, and it makes Vanessa melt to see her without such confidence. Like this shy Brooke is one only Vanessa has access to.

There  _ are _ a lot of sprinkles on the cookies, completely covering the frosting on some, but…

“Who don’t like sprinkles?” she says casually to Brooke, the blonde’s face relaxing while she sighs in relief. It’s kind of adorable, how Brooke wants so badly for Vanessa to like the cookies. 

Vanessa lingers in the doorway and tries to imagine her kitchen through Brooke’s eyes. It’s tiny, the whole apartment is, but it’s only ever just been Vanessa and she doesn’t need much space. She manages to keep it somewhat clean, busting into her cleaning supplies on her rare days off, if she had the energy. She’s never been embarrassed of her place, of that stain by the refrigerator that came with the apartment, or the tiny holes in the living room wall, but she’s never had someone rich enough for a housekeeper and private driver in here either.

Before Vanessa can say anything, Sophie marches up to her and looks deep in her eyes, and Vanessa feels like this four-year-old suddenly knows every secret she’s ever had, including the way her heart is pounding at the sight of Brooke in her kitchen. 

“You’re the toy lady my mommy talks about,” Sophie states firmly. 

“I am, am I?” Vanessa asks, playing along though the thought of Brooke thinking about her even far away from the store, in her own home, so much that she even mentioned her to her own daughter, makes Vanessa want to jump until she hits the ceiling. Somehow, Vanessa’s name coming out of Brooke’s mouth, floating around the walls of Brooke’s  _ home _ , is more intimate than Vanessa being in Brooke’s bed herself. (Though she certainly wouldn’t say no to that either).

Brooke’s cheeks are bright pink. “Why don’t you give me your mittens, Soph?” she smooths over her daughter’s statement. “We wouldn’t want to leave them here, would we?” she asks, her composure recovered with a sly grin at Vanessa. 

“Not teaching the next generation your tricks, then?” Vanessa teases.

“I might,” Brooke says, “After all, it worked this time, didn’t it?” Brooke’s smile is sharp and pointed, like a sword, before softening, and Vanessa starts making coffee, the familiar motions slowing her racing heart, as Brooke helps Sophie with her coat zipper. 

Riley, always slow on the uptake--part of the reason Vanessa loves him so much--finally recognizes that there’s company and trots into the kitchen to investigate. 

“You have a puppy!” Sophie yelps. “Can I pet it? Please?”

Vanessa smiles. “Of course you can. His name is Riley. He’s real friendly.”

Sophie seats herself on the kitchen floor, Riley happy to sit as she runs her hands all over his fur. 

She and Brooke slide across from each other at the kitchen table, sipping coffee--Brooke takes hers with one sugar, Vanessa commits that to memory, just in case--and starting on the cookies, melt-in-your-mouth soft beneath their crunchy sprinkle layer. 

“This is a nice place you have,” Brooke says. “It’s real cozy. I like it.”

“Thanks.” Vanessa shrugs. If it was anyone else, she’d think they’re just saying it to be nice, but Brooke doesn’t seem the type to spare one’s feelings with a lie. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s nice,” Brooke repeats. “Big doesn’t always mean a home, believe me.”

There’s a thread dangling there, one that would surely unravel and reveal more of Brooke if she grabs it, but she hesitates too long and the moment is gone. 

“Um, I don’t know if you’re working tomorrow, but would you want to grab lunch?” Brooke asks, hand rubbing the back of her neck. 

“I’d love to,” Vanessa answers honestly, already tingling at the idea, mentally running through her closet to pick an outfit. 

“Great.” Brooke smiles. “Does 12 work?”

“It sure does,” Vanessa says, because she’s going to make it work no matter who she has to trade lunches with. 

Vanessa tells Brooke more about the store and some holiday highlights, including the all-out fistfight last week, until the coffee mugs are empty and Sophie’s head droops against Brooke’s shoulder. 

“I should probably go,” Brooke says, lifting Sophie up to her hip.

“Right,” Vanessa agrees. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Vanessa watches them leave, Brooke helping Sophie into the car with gentle care, before running to her closet and pulling out shirts. For the first time ever, she can’t wait until work tomorrow. 

\--

The deli across the street from the store is as cramped as it is crowded, its linoleum floors and steel counters alive with people yelling out orders, tapping at the clear glass display cases, wiping mustard off their chins as they eat sitting at the few tables the deli has at the back. It’s noisy, and chaotic, and the pastrami is always suspiciously warm, but there’s no place Vanessa would rather spend her lunch. And from the looks of it, Brooke is just as happy to be there. 

“My parents worked in a place like this growing up.” She smiles as they shoulder their way up to the counter, craning their necks to read the menu hung above their heads. “I remember I used to spend whole days sitting on the floor by the counter, colouring or doing homework or something. I got my first job there, too.” 

“My parents worked in a cookie factory.” Vanessa shrugs. “They met working next to each other on the line.” 

“I guess both of our families have a history of meeting at work.” Brooke winks, and Vanessa laughs. 

“I guess they do.” 

They pick everything bagels with cream cheese and lox, large pickles on the side and piping-hot coffee to wash it all down, then slide into the last free booth in the very corner of the deli.

“You like pickles?” Vanessa offers, wrinkling her nose, and Brooke nods enthusiastically, not even hesitating to swipe Vanessa’s off her plate and immediately start munching down on it.

“Thanks!” She smiles through a mouthful of pickle juice, and Vanessa snorts.

“You lucky you pretty, bitch.”

“You like me just fine.” Brooke winks. 

“I do.” Vanessa grins. God, she really, really does. 

They spend the rest of their lunch chatting and laughing, gliding from topic to topic like they’ve known each other for years. They talk about their families, about movies they’ve seen recently, about their favourite things to do in their spare time. Five-to rolls around far too quickly, cutting Brooke off in the middle of a story about skating on the lake when she was a child, and Vanessa gets up to the table with a sinking feeling in her chest. 

“Hey, don’t look so glum.” Brooke tuts, pulling Vanessa in for a hug. “It’s not like you can’t see me later. In fact, I’d… I’d like that a lot, if I could see you again.”

“I’m not free again until Christmas Eve.” Vanessa sighs, squeezing Brooke tightly, as if it’s the last time she’ll hold the other woman for a while. For all she knows, it is; Christmas is two weeks away, and by the time she’s free again, for all she knows, whatever they’ve got going will have died, and Brooke will have someone new to be thinking of, to be leaving her gloves with and taking out for lunch. 

“Okay, Christmas Eve it is, then.”

Vanessa looks up, heart stopping and eyes wide. “What?”

“Christmas Eve it is, then.” Brooke repeats, smiling. “Sophie loves you, Vanessa, I’m sure she’d love to see you again, and I don’t have anyone else I’d rather spend it with than you. That is, if you’re not busy.”

“I’m not.” Vanessa cringes inwardly at how fast the words come out, how eager she sounds. But if she comes off as over-enthusiastic, then Brooke doesn’t seem to mind; she only grins wider, bringing Vanessa in for an even tighter, longer hug.

“Call me tonight, okay?” She whispers in Vanessa’s ear as they separate, planting a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek. “I wanna talk to you even if you’re busy.”

“Well, you know where to find me either way.” Vanessa jokes in response, even though when Brooke nods in understanding, she can tell that the other woman has taken the suggestion completely seriously. It’s a thought that cheers her up completely as she walks back to the store, her heart swelling with a newfound happiness in her chest.

\--

Vanessa’s nightly phone calls with Brooke have quickly become the best part of her day. 

She powers through the crowds yelling and fighting at the counter, each second taking her closer to the end of her shift, to running home and kicking off her shoes and munching on leftover pizza as Brooke’s voice washes over her like a warm tide. 

Brooke tells her about how she used to dance, had even been the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker, her costume sparkling in the picture Brooke shows her, and Vanessa smiles at getting to share in this part of her. Vanessa tells Brooke about her childhood, how she used to love to draw and color and create her own clothes for her dolls, how she always wanted to design dresses. 

It’s nice, it’s relaxing, and even when Vanessa is exhausted after a shift ends, talking to Brooke gives her new life, makes her ready to take on the world with Brooke beside her. She’s already planned her outfit, her favorite red dress with lacy black boots, for Christmas Eve, counting down the days until she goes to Brooke’s house. 

The Christmas rush has hit the toy department, and Vanessa is so busy ringing up orders and slicing her fingers on wrapping paper and fixing ruined displays that she almost doesn’t have time to miss Brooke. 

Almost.

In every spare second that her mind has to wander, it wanders to Brooke, a lighthouse guiding her to shore with each bubbling wave of thought. She arranges stuffed animal pillows and hopes Brooke is sleeping well; she’s sounded so tired on the phone lately, and it makes worry pool in Vanessa’s chest. She glances at a display of blonde dolls in red coats and hopes Brooke is warm enough in that big house, wishing she could wrap her in a hug like a blanket. 

Vanessa’s heart takes that familiar leap when Brooke walks up to the counter one day, but it instantly sinks down when she gets a good look at her. She’s in her usual expensive coat, black this time, her wavy hair just begging for Vanessa’s hands to run through it, but something is off. The coat doesn’t fit her like a suit of armor as it often does, and she seems smaller somehow, her eyes downcast and exhausted. Her hands are bare, black nail polish chipped. This is not her Brooke, if Vanessa’s even earned the right to think of her that way. What could be causing her to look so rattled? 

“Hey. Um, are you okay? You’re not looking so hot,” Vanessa ventures, hoping this isn’t a step too far. 

“I think we both know I’m always hot.” That’s the Brooke she knows, even if it’s not showing on Brooke’s face, still wary and drawn with dark shadows beneath her eyes. 

“You got me there, Mami.” She shoots a nervous grin at Brooke that isn’t returned, and Vanessa’s heart plummets. Is this it? Did Brooke come here to confess that she was in another relationship, or didn’t want to take things further?

Brooke is silent and Vanessa’s stomach twists. “Brooke, is something wrong?” She asks, deciding to take the plunge and just get it over with it, trying not to think that these blissful weeks with Brooke are already over. 

“I just--I’m so tired.” Before Vanessa can say anything, Brooke’s chin begins to quiver and her eyes dampen at the corners, tears pooling but not falling. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Vanessa is around the desk before she knows it, a steady hand on Brooke’s arm. She leads Brooke into the break room, grateful she’s with A’keria today, who will cover for her without question. 

She seats Brooke on the coveted wool couch--the one Silky in the tech department often claims entirely for herself--and heads to the water dispenser, pressing the hot feature and dumping a packet of instant cocoa into her purple mug decorated with little white dogs. 

She eases the piping-hot mug into Brooke’s hands, fueled by her mother’s insistence on giving warm drinks to people in distress. Brooke looks a little more like herself, a little more in control, with the mug, which she takes small sips of. 

Vanessa drops down next to her. “You wanna tell me what made you upset? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Brooke bites her lip. “I--Christmas gets hard sometimes. It makes me think about the divorce a lot.”

Vanessa just nods, letting Brooke know she can go on. Despite her curiosity, she hasn’t asked about Brooke’s past relationships, figuring it isn’t her place, and it warms her to know she has Brooke’s trust, even if it hurts to see Brooke like this. 

“The divorce was finalized last Christmas,” Brooke continues, sipping her hot chocolate. “It was a good thing, to be honest. He wasn’t a good person, Vanessa. He...he was a horrible person, really.” There’s pain lurking in her eyes, and Vanessa doesn’t want to know what her ex-husband did to put it there, but she does want to make it better, let Brooke know she would never hurt her. 

“I’m so sorry.” Vanessa lowers a hand to Brooke’s knee and squeezes in gentle comfort, doing all she can to anchor Brooke down, keep her together. 

“It’s okay,” Brooke says, sitting up straighter, her composure returning in waves. “I’m sorry to dump that on you. I’m not usually not like this, I just have bad days sometimes.” 

Brooke shakes her head lightly, face grim. “Vanessa, if you don’t want to be saddled with all this”--she gestures to herself, as if she’s another other than the perfect woman of Vanessa’s dreams-- “I understand. I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Brooke, no.” Vanessa takes a breath, wanting her next words to be right. “I really like you.  _ All _ of you. And I want to get to know more of you. All your insecurities, all you’ve been through, I wanna get to know those parts of you too.” 

The words feel right when they hit the air, and any doubts she had about Brooke’s feelings for her dissolve in their wake.

“I like you too.” Brooke sets her mug on the ground and places a tender kiss on Vanessa’s cheek. It’s probably the sweetest thing to ever occur on this couch and far from the most work-inappropriate. The soft lips on her cheek steal Vanessa’s breath, and she wonders if she should take her shirt off and actually  _ do _ the most work-inappropriate act this couch has seen when the door creaks open to reveal Nina West, head of the women’s clothing department, standing in the doorway with her Disney mug in hand. 

She and Brooke split apart like lightning struck between them. Vanessa holds her breath in the hopes she’ll turn invisible, her and Nina blinking at each other for endless seconds. 

“You know what, I’m not gonna ask,” Nina affirms, inching back out. “That couch needs to be condemned anyway.”

Brooke bursts into laughter once she’s gone, and Vanessa is so relieved to have her goofy Brooke back that she laughs too, their sounds blending into a hysterical symphony. 

“Do you still design clothes?” Brooke asks, and it’s so random that Vanessa shoots her a puzzled look. 

“I was just thinking of getting to know all of you too,” Brooke explains. “You said on the phone you used to draw clothes and stuff. I was wondering if you still did.”

Vanessa shrugs. She hates to explain the whole story, usually met with forced sympathies, but she knows she won’t get them from Brooke. “I was supposed to start at design school, but my dad got sick, and I started working here full-time to help my parents. I didn’t have time for school and I just… got stuck, you know?” Stuck in this job, in her crappy apartment, in a string of girlfriends that left after a month, tops. 

“I understand,” Brooke says, and Vanessa sees not fake pity but real concern and love in her eyes. “I hope you can get unstuck one day. Get your inspiration back.”

“I hope so too.” Hell, Christmas is the time for miracles, isn’t it?

“I should let you get back,” Brooke insists, standing up with reluctance. “I wouldn’t want your boss to get mad at you or anything.”c

“Right.” Vanessa sighs. “I really can’t wait to see you for Christmas Eve.”

“Me neither. I’m just glad you still want to come.”

“Please,” Vanessa scoffs. “You can’t scare me away. I work retail.” 

Brooke snorts, her smile wide enough to carry Vanessa until the day arrives. 

Finally, finally, after being subjected to “Jingle Bells” more than one person ever should in their lifetime, Vanessa lets the red dress engulf her like flames, purse slippery in her sweaty grasp, as the taxi pulls up to an elegant three-story house with wreaths shining on the doors and garlands glistening across the roof like something out of a movie. Vanessa’s jaw drops, imagining getting lost in all those rooms, rooms to eat in and cook in and watch TV in and sleep in, until she remembers Brooke saying that big didn’t mean a home. She instead pictures Brooke staring at all those rooms, the size and emptiness mocking her, feeling like a doll inside a toy house, and the thought breaks her heart.

Vanessa forces the thought away, vowing that she will fill Brooke’s house and her heart tonight, make sure she feels love flowing through the air. She takes a deep breath and raises her hand to the door. 

\---

Brooke is wearing the ugliest sweater Vanessa has ever seen, and she looks amazing in it.

“Sophie designed it.” Brooke blushes when she catches Vanessa staring at the garish neon-green fabric and the Christmas tree patch clumsily sewn onto the front, but Vanessa just shakes her head, grinning.

“I love it.” she says, reaching forward to touch one of the red pom-poms hanging off of the sleeves. “Four’s pretty young to knit and sew, though, that’s impressive!”

Brooke’s face reddens further, until she’s as scarlet as the pom-pom that Vanessa is still playing with. “No, she just designed it. I was the one who knit and sewed it.” 

This time, it’s Vanessa who blushes, but Brooke doesn’t seem to mind--in fact, she laughs, harder and more brightly than Vanessa’s ever heard her laugh before, and it’s contagious. They’re both still chuckling as they move further into the house, their laughter only interrupted by the sound of tiny, fast footsteps. A minute later, Sophie runs in, clutching a big, fluffy cat in her arms.

“Mommy! Nessie!” Sophie screams with delight, jumping up into Brooke’s open arms while Vanessa takes the cat from her, cooing as it sniffs her hand. She runs a hand down the cat’s back, only for her hand to hit coarse wool and fluffy pom-poms, and she realizes with a jolt that its Christmas sweater is identical to Brooke’s. And, when she looks back at the little girl in Brooke’s arms, she realizes that Sophie’s sweater matches, too.

“Am I the only one who didn’t get the memo?” she jokes, putting on an exaggerated pout that makes Sophie erupt into peals of laughter.

“No!” she shakes her head, “Mommy said they were--” she straightens up, pursing her lips and putting her hands on her hips in a ridiculous impression of her mother, “-- _ For family only. _ ” 

God, Vanessa loves this kid. 

“Well, next Christmas, maybe.” She winks, and Brooke rolls her eyes. 

“Why don’t we see how Coco’s doing with the turkey, huh?” Brooke ushers everyone into the kitchen, where a cook with a big smile and a glob of orange-looking gravy smeared on her cheek greets them. For all her friendly looks, though, Coco has the accuracy and confidence of a drill sergeant, roping them into different tasks until their entire feast is finished and set on the table, Coco rushing off to spend Christmas with her own family. 

It’s nice, being able to cook alongside Brooke, watching her get her hands messy with flour and her tongue poke out as she carefully crinkles the crust of their pecan pie. And it’s even more rewarding to finally sit down at Brooke’s side, Sophie opposite and the cat—Henry, Brooke tells Vanessa—sniffing for scraps under the table. They spend the evening chatting and eating and laughing, telling stories and playing parlour games, until the clock rings eight-thirty, announcing that it’s time for Sophie to get to bed.

“Wait here while I tuck her in, then we can spend some more time alone together.” Brooke winks, and Vanessa’s heart flutters, her mouth going dry as she nods.  _ Time alone together.  _ Just the phrase itself is exciting, its vagueness both nerve-wracking and full of possibilities, possibilities Vanessa can’t wait to see unfold. It’s not going to be anything too exciting--Hell, they’ve not even kissed properly yet, barely even know each other. But they’ll keep talking, maybe even cuddle a little, and the thought of nestling into Brooke’s arms, of feeling Brooke’s heartbeat against her chest, is enough to take Vanessa’s breath away completely. 

Vanessa sinks into the plush cushions of Brooke’s couch and is trying to regain her breathing when Brooke comes back with a box in her hand, taking the seat next to Vanessa and tucking her legs beneath her, the position endearing and soft, and Vanessa’s heart warms her whole body. 

“So,” Brooke begins. 

“So.” Vanessa echoes, and then they’re both laughing, Vanessa trying to keep hers down so she doesn’t wake Sophie. 

“Um, I got you something,” Brooke says, handing her the thin box. Vanessa takes it and feels like a kid again, how she would shake the box around to guess what was inside, the breathless, top-of-the-roller-coaster feeling as she lifted the lid. The same feeling she gets being around Brooke. 

“Your present-wrapping skills are better than your sewing skills,” Vanessa teases as she rips the paper with childish energy. She tugs off the lid to reveal a sketch book, the kind with thick, creamy paper, and a rainbow of colored pencils sharp enough to cut someone. She looks up at Brooke with her mouth open. 

“Is it okay? I just thought maybe you could design again sometime--no pressure or anything, just if you--”

“Brooke, it’s wonderful,” Vanessa cuts her off. “I love it, really. Thank you so much.”

“I’m just glad you like it.” Brooke smiles, that same nervous smile she had when Vanessa liked her cookies. Like she wanted so badly for Vanessa to be happy. 

“I have something for you too.” Vanessa reaches for the bags she put on the coffee table. She pulls out the larger box first, explaining to Brooke that it was for Sophie, a stuffed dog that looks like Riley. She places the smaller one in Brooke’s hands and holds her breath as Brooke tears the paper. 

“Vanessa, it’s beautiful,” Brooke gasps. The silver necklace with its tiny ice skate charm twinkles in the Christmas tree lights. Vanessa had asked Asia in the jewelry department to rush it for her, enduring Asia’s telling-off for trying to rush her. 

“I know how much you liked ice-skating,” Vanessa says. “May I?” She gestures to the necklace and Brooke nods, turning her back to Vanessa. Vanessa’s hands ghost above the smooth skin of Brooke’s neck as she fastens the necklace, an electric current hitting when she brushes a strand of Brooke’s hair, the touch making Vanessa shiver.

If someone had told her a month ago that she’d be spending Christmas Eve with a tall blonde woman who marches around like a captain one minute and clumsily drops a forkful of pecan pie in her lap the next and her adorable daughter, Vanessa would have asked for some of whatever they were smoking to make the day more interesting. But now that she’s here, she can’t imagine leaving. 

“It’s really coming down out there,” Brooke says. Vanessa turns to the window, giant snowflakes floating down like cotton balls, joining the mountains of it already on the ground. 

“Yeah, it is.”

Brooke bites her lip. “I’d hate to have you go out in this weather. Why don’t you stay the night?”

“You’re sure? I wouldn’t wanna impose”— never mind that there’s enough rooms to house the entire department store— “or ruin anything with Sophie.”

Brooke shakes her head. “She’ll be so happy you’re still here. And you’re not imposing. Not now, not ever.”

Vanessa nods, not arguing any further because she really doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want the night to end. Doesn’t want to have to stop looking at Brooke for another second. Not when Brooke is looking back at her with adoring eyes, misty with something Vanessa can’t puzzle out, not in words at least, but can feel, because somehow, she knows that deep in her chest, she’s feeling the same thing.

So instead, she creeps closer on the couch, Brooke’s eyes meeting hers and rivaling any display of Christmas lights.

“I have one more present for you.” 

“Yeah?”

Brooke doesn’t waste a second before her lips are on Vanessa’s. The sensation is everything she fantasized and more, Brooke’s steady hands around her back and Vanessa’s flying to Brooke’s hips, their hearts correcting to beat in sync with each other. When Vanessa pulls away she can’t even speak, and notices happily that Brooke seems to be similarly losing the gift of language. 

“That was…” Vanessa tries. 

“Merry Christmas,” Brooke says, and Vanessa laughs, because what else can she do? There aren’t any words or phrases in the world that could say what Vanessa wants to in the moment. So instead, she pulls Brooke in for another kiss, soft and sweet and no more than a peck, really, but it’s enough, because when she leans away, Brooke is blushing,  _ blushing _ (God, she looks so pretty when she’s blushing), and biting her lip as if she’s the happiest woman in the world.

Although right now, the skipping in Vanessa’s chest and butterflies in her stomach certainly indicate that she can give Brooke a run for her money as far as that title was concerned.

“Merry Christmas.” Vanessa presses up against Brooke again, pulling her close and feeling Brooke’s heartbeat against her chest, a pulsing rhythm at once new and familiar, exciting and soothing. 

It’s her first Christmas with Brooke, but Vanessa knows it won’t be the last. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!!!


End file.
